Nothing haunts me

Writing about writer's block

Nothing haunts me



like an empty page

naked and destitute

yet somehow

daring

that presence lurking

beneath its thin surface

to spring forth

fully formed

like the goddess

wielding aegis and spear


or a forbidding pallid expanse

devoid of life

an ancient Arctic desert of cold

whiteness transfigured

as a leviathan

consuming those

last waking moments,

just before slumber

overcomes


this vast desiccate sea

of ivory dunes

stretching far as the mind can see

dunes that crest and fall

and then crest again

like waves of undulating sand

building and building to mighty heights

that threaten to crash

in a granular avalanche

that obliterates all

of the casually cast images

burying the crafted word

leaving only the ephemeral


whitecaps of emptiness


in its wake